Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “As usual,” he replied with a scowl as they trudged onward. “But then I shouldn’t be surprised by that answer.”

  “No, you should not,” she said.

  Half an hour later they emerged from the trees. They followed a dirt road for a short distance, briefly halting when they neared a small stone bridge spanning the Edelin River. The bridge was situated less than a mile from Morrenwood. Here is where their forces would cross, making directly for the Blue Citadel. Here is where everyone realized that there would be no turning back.

  “Absolute silence from this point forward,” Commander Uta instructed his men. “As soon as we’re inside the Citadel, make for the sections you were assigned to and then find and detain the King. Madeline assured me that searching those particular areas will provide us our best opportunity to locate him. Send word back to me or Captain Burlu once you do and we’ll send reinforcements immediately.” He glanced at Arileez, now in the form of a young man in his twenties dressed in the uniform of a Northern Isles soldier. He was the key to their plan, and though Arileez had been following his orders without question, the commander felt intimidated by him nonetheless. “Remember, we want to remove King Justin from the Citadel alive and in secret after he is replaced. No one can see him leaving or our efforts will be in vain. Vellan will be anxious to speak with him while his substitute is reigning over Arrondale. But in the event that it becomes unavoidable,” he sternly cautioned, “kill the King. But still remove the body in secret. Any questions?”

  The commander received none and gave the order to cross the bridge, after which they veered southwest for a time along the river’s southern bank before turning directly south through the trees and fields toward Morrenwood. A short while later, the dark walls of the Citadel were visible beyond the distant pines, looming like a silhouette against an equally dark sky. A few oil lamps burned inside the building’s corridors, lighting up several frosted windows like watchful eyes. Commander Uta whispered last minute instructions before his men proceeded onward, veering to the right as the Citadel loomed ahead, growing closer with every step.

  Soon the trees thinned out and the soldiers halted on the edge of the woods. The Citadel was less than a quarter mile away to the southwest. Here the frothy rush of the Edelin River was audible behind them to their right, its cold waters splashing over mossy rocks hidden in the darkness. A pale flicker of light blinked along the water’s edge in the near distance in the same direction, most likely someone’s leftover fire from the previous night. To their left almost a mile away, several bonfires burned in a large field covered with tents. Uta realized that the bulk of King Justin’s troops must have made their encampment there since returning from war. He expected his mission to be swiftly executed before word could be sent to those troops. The commander gave the final signal for his men to move forward. They made a beeline toward the back entrance of the Citadel while cloaked under cover of clouds and darkness. They still had time to reach the few sentries at their post before the first hint of gray dawn pierced the eastern horizon.

  “Are you ready, Madeline?” Uta whispered, his white breath rising through the frosty air. “You must work your spell fast.”

  Madeline adjusted the fur-lined hood covering her flaming-red hair, her words feather soft. “Am I ready? You waste your breath on such a silly question, Uta, and insult me at the same time. How resourceful of you.”

  “No insult was intended,” he coolly replied, used to the woman’s sharp tongue. “Just doing the job I’m being paid for.”

  Uta silently signaled to four soldiers nearby, marching two by two, each pair on either side carrying a long wooden pole across their shoulders and gripping it with one hand. Two pieces of rope were tied to each pole. Attached to the four rope ends tautly hanging from the poles was a leather sling holding a large, round granite rock. The four soldiers weaved their way toward Madeline, keeping pace with her while remaining a few steps behind as the hanging rock gently swayed with their movements.

  Moments later the small army closed in on the Citadel. The soldiers silently drew their swords as they made for the main back entrance. Despite being a moving black mass that blended in with the last remnants of night, Uta expected to be spotted at any moment by the four guards whose faces he could now distinguish in the flickering light of several torches in back of them.

  “Here we go,” Mune nervously whispered to Madeline as he eyed the quartet of Citadel guards just ahead. Two were casually talking to one another while the other two stood at attention near a set of thick wooden doors beneath a stone archway. “Sometimes I don’t think Caldurian pays me enough for my services.”

  Madeline ignored the comment, concentrating instead on the spell she was about to perform. Moments later, one of the guards talking near the Citadel entrance turned his head suspiciously toward the advancing troops and paused, apparently not quite sure if he saw something moving in the thick gloom. He pointed in Uta’s direction as if seeking the opinion of the guard next to him. That was the only indication Commander Uta required to tell him that their veil of secrecy was about to be lifted.

  “First team forward,” he whispered. “Now!”

  Instantly, a dozen soldiers in front of the line raised their swords and bolted toward the entrance and were soon enveloped in the faint light of the torches. The four Citadel guards heard the footfalls and a moment later detected the glint of enemy swords in the firelight. They shouted an alarm and drew their weapons. A clash of metal upon metal shattered the calm as two of the guards were quickly slain by Uta’s men.

  “Secure the doors!” one of the two remaining guards ordered as he battled a pair of intruders.

  The guard who received the order ran with lightning fury along the left side of the Citadel while pursued by three of Uta’s men. He disappeared through a small metal door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. Unable to secure entry, the three soldiers returned to the main doors beneath the archway that were now barred from inside. They noted with indifference that the third Citadel guard had been killed, his body slumped against the stone wall.

  “Step aside!” Uta yelled from a short distance away, not caring who heard him now. The rest of his army stood at the ready as the dozen soldiers near the entrance hurriedly rejoined the group.

  The four men who had been carrying the large granite stone dropped it on the ground directly in line with the main doors and moved away. Madeline shed her cloak and walked toward the rock, staring at the object as if it were alive and ready to pounce. She squatted down and placed both hands upon it, her willowy body visible against the fluttering torchlight near the archway.

  “What’s she going to do?” one of the soldiers whispered.

  “Silence!” Commander Uta said.

  Madeline closed her eyes and bowed her head, muttering a string of words in a language no one there understood except Arileez. She moved her hands slowly across the stone for several moments and then froze as everyone looked on in fascination. Suddenly, a faint red-orange glow radiated from the surface of the stone like wisps of steam. Many observing the ritual thought they were imagining it at first until the stone grew as bright and hot as glowing embers. Madeline swiftly pulled her hands away and stepped back, her eyes and mind still focused upon the rock. She stretched her arms out toward the fiery orb and continued to speak the strange words, her voice slowly rising in volume, yet her tone severe and authoritative.

  “Syfálin brűl,” she commanded, her arms stiffening and her facial muscles taut.

  The glowing rock moved slightly, shuddering in place as if it wanted to explode or roll away. Yet something held it back. Madeline clenched her jaw as she continued to cast a searing gaze upon the piece of granite, her expression grim and determined. She raised her hands and extended her thin fingers, repeating the command more forcefully.

  “SYFÁLIN BRŰL!”

  Like an eagle in flight, the flaming stone shot through the air, barreling directly toward the Citadel doors. At the same ins
tant, Madeline lurched backward, off balance and slightly dizzy, yet her eyes still fixed on the fiery orb. After sailing above the surface of the ground like a blinding meteor, the glowing rock smashed into the left door of the Citadel and through the edge of the stone archway, obliterating both in a wild and fiery explosion that reverberated across the landscape like a thunder clap. The wooden door burst into flames and a gaping hole had been blown into the stone wall. The remains of the two doors were flung wide open, askew on their hinges. The back hall of the Citadel was exposed as a group of the King’s soldiers scrambled within to repel the surprise invasion.

  “Forward!” Uta cried, pointing the tip of his sword at the Citadel. But his men needed no further encouragement, storming the building as they cried out into the fading night. Arileez, Captain Burlu and Uta followed last of all.

  Mune, however, stayed back and ran over to Madeline when he saw her waver precariously on her feet. He caught her by the arms and steadied the woman, noting a faint smile of satisfaction upon her face despite the grueling task. A few snow flurries began to fall.

  “Are you all right, Madeline? I thought you were going to pass out.” He retrieved her cloak and placed it over her shoulders.

  “Why, Mune, I would almost think you cared about me,” she replied as the clash of metal swords and frantic battle shouts echoed in the distance. “But I am fatigued, I’m not ashamed to say.” She wrapped herself in the warm folds of her cloak and walked to a nearby tree, her arm linked around Mune’s. She sat on the ground and rested against the trunk, closing her eyes for a moment. “Let me sit here and recover. That spell took quite a bit out of me, though I had prepared for it for days.”

  “Not the same as releasing flaming balls of grass into the air,” Mune joked, recalling their first meeting with Uta near the grasslands.

  She grinned. “No. This was more fun.” Madeline opened her eyes and looked at Mune with a firm gaze, already back to business though not fully recovered. “You’d better join the others. You must help search for the King. Your team is waiting.”

  “I know,” he said. A flicker of disappointment registered on his face as Madeline’s brush with playful camaraderie disappeared. “I know my assignment and will cover my section of the Citadel. Join us when you can.” He stood and ran toward the demolished entrance.

  Madeline watched him disappear into the chaos, hoping he would survive. A light flurry of snow began to fall. She closed her eyes again and relaxed, exhausted after having performed her magic spell which proved to be the most difficult one she had ever attempted. Yet she prided herself on the fact that no other wizard had guided her to create that spell. She never approached Arileez for his opinion, finding him even more standoffish than Mune sometimes found her. And it was rare that she had a chance to consult with Caldurian these days as he was too absorbed with implementing his and Vellan’s grand plans.

  Madeline imagined herself apprenticing with Vellan since Caldurian seemed to have grown less close to her with each passing month despite a deep-seated affection she knew he would always have for her. Though still a powerful individual, she thought Caldurian was not the caliber of wizard he had been years ago, wondering if she should cultivate other connections when this current assignment was over. Madeline yawned and began to nod off, recalling the first time she and Caldurian had met. At that time she had claimed to want to know the world, but as her powers and associations developed and expanded, she found herself more eager to control it and bring to it a sense of order that she had convinced herself was desperately needed.

  “In time,” she whispered wearily. “All in good time.”

  But just as Madeline was succumbing to soothing sleep, she thought she heard a voice in the darkness, whispers drifting among the black and gray border of a new day. She opened her eyes and scanned the area along the river, for a moment wondering if some of King Justin’s troops at the encampment had secretly made their way over here to help repel the attack. When she saw a tiny burst of light and a flurry of sparks near the river’s edge, she snapped out of her stupor and was again fully awake. She noted a vague outline of someone leaning over the remains of the bonfire she had spotted earlier when approaching the Citadel. Madeline jumped to her feet, her body still feeling the strain from having cast such a strenuous spell. Slowly, a tiny ball of flame appeared to drift through the air, gently rising and falling as it drew nearer. She guessed that someone had lit a torch in the glowing embers and was heading her way.

  “That noise surely wasn’t thunder.” Carmella’s whispered words drifted through the air from a short distance away, the flickering torch in her hand. Madeline didn’t immediately recognize her cousin’s voice, not having heard it for twenty years. “And why are the back doors of the Citadel wide open at this hour? I think–”

  A long, silent pause followed and the light ceased to advance. Madeline guessed that whoever was talking in the darkness had just spotted the destroyed door and stonework with shock and was now at a loss for words. Perhaps it was someone who had wandered over from the King’s stables farther down the open grassy area, she speculated as the milky, gray light of morning increased ever so gently in the east.

  “Something terrible has happened!” Carmella continued, now louder and with a hint of panic as the torchlight again moved closer. Madeline detected something oddly familiar about the voice. But she shoved that thought aside when noticing a shorter figure standing beside the woman in the faint glow of the light. “We have to help. We have to check on Megan and the others!”

  “I will stay here,” Jagga replied, his voice low and gruff. “I will probably get blamed if I step inside the Citadel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Carmella replied, hurrying forward through a veil of fine snow flurries as she held the torch aloft.

  As she approached a nearby tree, Carmella suddenly stopped, startled when catching something out of the corners of her eyes. To her left she spotted a short, slender figure standing bundled in a cloak beneath the leafless branches and staring back with equal curiosity. Carmella moved cautiously toward the individual as the torchlight swept away the murky shadows, revealing Madeline’s watery green eyes and strands of flaming red hair peeking beneath the hood of her cloak. Carmella was about to ask for the woman’s identity, but then twenty years of separation dissolved instantly like a bubble of soap. Her mouth was agape.

  Madeline, too, stood there momentarily in a state of shock. Upon seeing Carmella’s colorful cloak and gazing at her unkempt head of light blond hair, she knew in an instant that this woman was her cousin. The corners of her lips rose in the tiniest of smiles when Madeline noted the long, beige gloves covering Carmella’s hands, assuming them still to be the color of pumpkins. The two women gazed at each other for a long, silent moment, their faces having gently aged since their last encounter. But the fiery determination in their eyes seemed not a day older or less intense.

  “Hello, cousin,” Carmella said, her voice hardened with contempt. “This is the last place I expected to find you, Liney. But by the horrific looks of things, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” She indicated the smoking Citadel entrance with a tilt of her head. “But don’t expect to escape responsibility for your actions this time.”

  Madeline shook her head without fear or intimidation. “Hello yourself, cousin. It’s been too long,” she replied, removing her hood, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “And escaping is exactly what I have in mind–unless, of course, you think you can stop me this time.”

  Mune stepped through the broken Citadel doors, sickened by the carnage. Several dead bodies lay sprawled upon the stone floor, a mix of King Justin’s troops and Commander Uta’s soldiers. There was, however, no sign of Uta, Arileez or Captain Burlu. They had presumably spread out with the others to search for the King. Fresh blood stained the granite stonework in the now vacant chamber which nauseated Mune. The sound of fluttering flames in the oil lamps whispered in the background.

  Mune then heard the echo of fi
ghting from distant corridors. He knew there would be violence connected to many of Vellan and Caldurian’s endeavors which is why he tried to keep as far away from them as possible. He preferred to plan such undertakings and work around the edges, but he had been unable to worm his way out of this particular affair. The sight and smell of death made him weak in the stomach. But he had a job to do, and the mercenary side of him quickly took over. If he wanted to get paid and save his life, he had to find the team he was supposed to follow and help search for the King. Mune scanned the large hallway, noting two stone staircases on either side and several archways.

  “Take the left stairwell,” he muttered to himself, repeating Uta’s earlier instructions, “then up three flights and to the…left again?” He paused in uncertainty. “And then to the right? Or is it the other way round?”

  Mune was shaken by the ghastliness of the moment, unable to recall simple instructions. But not wanting to linger in case King Justin’s troops returned, he dashed up the left staircase, hoping to find any of Uta’s men nearby. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous hallway as the stairwell periodically turned at right angles, but the sound was soon drowned out by a clash of swords as he approached the third floor. When he peered around the corner of the stairwell and down the main corridor, he saw a handful of soldiers battling one another at the far end in front of a large door. He wondered if King Justin might be protected behind it, or perhaps it was just one of the many spontaneous fights that had broken out. But armed with nothing but a dagger and having no intention of joining such a large fight, he stepped back in the stairwell and continued up.

  Mune heard no sound as he walked along the main corridor on the fourth level. He wondered if the King and those chasing after him were fighting in a different section of the Citadel. It was a sprawling place containing several wings, with some areas utilized more than others. He quickly abandoned the floor and climbed up the final flight to the fifth level, not disappointed that the mission may have unfolded without his presence. Perhaps King Justin had already been kidnapped and replaced by Arileez while he was tending to Madeline. If he found nothing on the top floor, he would hurry back down and exit the Citadel, fearing he had little time to spare before the fortress was again secured. If captured, he guessed that he would be hauled off to a prison cell no matter which king was in charge–the real one or the impostor. Arileez would have to act like the King and keep him under lock and key to maintain his deception, at least for a short time. Mune wanted none of that and raced to the top floor.